Those the World Forgets
by NiDubhchair
Summary: A slightly-more-than-One-Shot. Set during "The End of Time - Part 1."  How did the wounded 10th Doctor get back to his Tardis after Naismith's men shot him? Rather "Doctor-lite," but includes some old friends.  Hint: one's a paving stone . . .
1. Who Needs the Doctor?

_Hey guys. This first part is pretty short and doesn't really get to the action much, but I was impatient and wanted to get this posted. This is my first Dr. Who fic, so, sorry if I messed up the canon at all. I also apologise ahead of time for my horrific attempts to incorporate British slang. I'm as Yank as they come, so, I'm sorry if it switches horribly back-and-forth between English & American idiom. Google-searches only get you so far . . . Any suggestions/comments/help-with-writing-about-England-when-you've-never-actually-been-there would be appreciated!_

I'm the kind of girl the world forgets. Raised in lead-painted rooms with windows always stuck open when its cold and stuck shut in the summer, brought up on chips and fish-sticks and warm pop. The closest thing I saw to family was _East Enders_ and the closest thing I got to love were the Easter baskets they handed out in Sunday School. I guess, in the end, the man in the brown coat, the one Elton called the Doctor, was forgotten too.

I was lucky I guess: my mum dragged me to St. Edmund's Sunday School from age 8, when she found God, to age 13, when she was kicked to death by her dealer in our living room. And it was probably the shelf in the back of Miss Paravel's Sunday School room what saved my life when they sent me off to foster care.

I kept going to St. Edmund's – I guess 'cause I liked the biscuits after service and the people there smiled at me. Ms. Paravel was your stereotypical village mum: over-teased hair and bad sweaters every day of the year, even in August, but she kept that shelf pristine and full-up of all the Narnia, Prydain, and Hogwarts a kid like me could need to stave off the anger and loneliness. I didn't get into drugs 'cause I swore the day mum died that I'd kill the next dealer that came near me. I didn't push myself in school, but I liked reading enough and kept my head and voice down, so the teachers didn't mind me and kept passing me through my levels. The books kept me off the street and out of the trouble, and the lack of a record at the age of 16 meant I could grab myself a decent job frying burgers in a lunch-truck.

Mr. Hajib owned the truck, and Ms. Custer ran it. Jackie & Tom Custer, her kids, helped me with the grunt work. Our favorite parking spot was across from the industrial dumpsite known locally as The Wasteland. None of the other lunch-truckers could stand the smell, and a hot, greasy meal goes down well with those that haul iron all day. I figured I had reached something like happiness, forgotten though I was. I had managed to keep my head down out of all the troubles that great men had visited on us in the last few years. I didn't make much difference to me whether the Queen reigned from the palace or little trashcan men reigned from the sky. I just cooked up, cleaned up, went home to read, and prayed that the next time giant stars started shooting laser guns they'd keep their aim at the sparkling lights of Notting Hill and leave me and my dumpy flat alone.

Elton didn't see it that way. He lived in the flat across from me, and we didn't bother each other much until the day I walked in to borrow an egg and found him snogging a paving stone. His girlfriend, Ursula, he said. Put that way by some bloke called The Doctor who stuck her in a cobblestone to keep her from dying. It was strange times, so I didn't much argue – after all, hadn't it been just a year-ago Christmas that a bloody mountain had appeared in the morning sky and half the neighbors had taken a mind to stand on their balconies and contemplate jumping?

Elton had once been devoted to a whole little side hobby, following this Doctor and documenting all the times he'd supposedly saved the Earth from this, that, or the other thing. He hadn't been into it much lately, he told me, seeing as he and Ursula had only narrowly escaped with their lives the last time they'd seen him. But they had a way of speaking of him – like all of Christmas & Easter and Bank Holidays was wrapped up in this strange, skinny man from the stars.

"Like Aslan crossed himself with Aragorn and then decided the thing to do was fly a Police box," said I.

"Yeah, somethin' like that," said Elton.

"Don't be silly," said Ursula-the-Paving-Stone, "He's nothing like them – I _read_ you see, all this toff does is dance around to ELO. He's nothing like Aslan or Aragorn or Gandalf . . . but he _wants_ to be. That's what makes him a hero."

"He's saved us enough in the last few years," said Elton. "But I bet he wishes sometimes we could figure a way to manage it on our own."

"Well, as far as I'm concerned, the aliens can have us as long as they don't outlaw hamburgers. Or books," I said.

"You'll think different, one day," said Elton. "Aliens don't sound so bad, maybe, long as their far away. But when you're staring down the maw of one who wants you for a Happy Meal, you'll be yelling for the Doctor quick as any of us."

"Oh, you're _so _scary," I scoffed, "there's hungry maws enough on the streets after dark. Don't need aliens for enemies, we humans don't. We do well enough on our own. And most of 'em don't need a Doctor for their fixin, either – just a swift kick in the jewels or a pipe to the ribcage."

Elton and Ursula just shook their heads at me, but they came around more often after that. I suppose when you're keeping secrets for so long it's a relief to expand the circle. Elton burned me ELO CD's, and Ursula & I would read aloud to each other from Susanna Clarke or Orson Scott-Card. I wasn't as forgotten, I suppose, with them, even if one of them was just a rock with a face. And I suppose now I can admit they were right – everybody needs the Doctor before the end.

It all happened on a cloudy day just like every other cloudy day. The wind was sharp and smelled even more than usual like smoke and metal and wet, fouled earth. I remember there were three men in line at the lunch truck – two regulars, Tommo & Ginger who worked at Mr. Pike's foundry 'round the corner, and a blonde, bearded hoodie I'd never seen before wearing all black – he had an awfully terrible expression I remember now, like he could eat the whole world and still leave room to have the moon for dessert. Silly how plain it all seems to me looking back – but we never look twice at evil the first time we meet it, I think.

Tommo & Ginger ordered their usual, and the ravenous blonde just stood there, staring at the menu. I heard Ms. Custer ask him what he wanted. Tom was at the grill. Jackie was restocking the soda machines. Mr. Hajib was finishing up emptying the bins. He handed me the bags overfull with greasy paper and leftovers and pointed to the door. I was halfway to the dumpster when the screaming started.


	2. The Ravenous Man

**CHAPTER 2: THE RAVENOUS MAN**

I dropped the bags and turned round. The truck was shaking, and sparking like a power pole had fallen on it. I could see Hoodie's legs hanging halfways out the front window – I couldn't see Mrs. Custer, but blood was pouring out the back door and pooling under the steps. A skeleton dressed in Mr. Hajib's clothes was thrown out the front window and lay there in the mud, looking like a ridiculous science-lab prank. I froze. All talk of aliens eating us for Happy Meals seemed less academic all of the sudden – but I had been right in one thing: there was no Doctor to save them. Not this time. Hoodie jumped out of the window, his face and mouth dripping blood. He turned half-towards me, sniffing. I ran before I could catch what his expression might tell me this time.

I ran, and ran. The wind and the pounding of my own heart and the shuffle of my feet on the industrial shale concealed whether or not the Ravenous Man was following me – in my mind he was always only but a few steps behind, his hot, bloody breath on my neck. I was completely off my head – I could think of nothing but running a little farther, a little harder, a little bit longer from the screams and skeletons and the infernal emptiness of the Ravenous Man's eyes. I ran until my lungs felt like cement boulders grinding together in my chest. I ran until I was blind with sweat. I ran until I lost a shoe, tripped over a girder, and fell head-long into a pit. I must've been knocked out the instant I hit the bottom. I dreamed that the Ravenous Man was eating me – starting at the toes on my bare left foot.

The crackling of electricity nearby woke me. After a few minutes of waking darkness & confused pounding in my ears, I made out that it was night, and I was still at the bottom of a shale-pit. I could hear two men talking, one harsh and passionate, the other desperate and weak. I listened for quite a few minutes, trying to gather my limbs from where they seemed to be: scattered to the four-winds by my aching head.

"What if I ask you for help?" said the weaker voice. There was an edge of pain in it. "There are more at work tonight than you and me."

"Oh, yeah?" Something in the harsh voice chilled me – reminded me of my dreams.

"I've been told something is returning."

"And here I am."

"No, something more."

"But it hurts!"

"I was told the end of time."

"It hurts, Doctor, the noise. The noise in my head . . . Doctor, can't you hear it?"

"I'm sorry."

The Harsh Voice had called the Weaker Voice "Doctor." Could it be the same entity that Elton & Ursula always brought up? I had no way of knowing what they were talking about – only they both seemed awfully determined to get their way. I hoped that whatever they were arguing for, it would eventually conclude in one or both of them getting rid of the Ravenous Man. If they were such powerful spacemen as their talk lead me to eventually conclude, that seemed only reasonable. And if the Doctor could maybe get around to pulling me out my hole and doctoring the hurt in _my_ head a bit, I wouldn't have argued either.

Suddenly the Harsh Voice was laughing. "It's real," he said. "IT'S REAL." There was a bright flash, and the figure of a man shot high above me, lighting pouring from his feet. Even in the dim light I could make out his black hoodie: The Harsh Voice belonged to the Ravenous Man. And the Ravenous Man could _fly_.

Though my head was still spinning, I shot to my feet, all my fear returning. If he saw me he would come for me – he would eat me like he'd eaten the others. I tried to scramble up the sides of the pit, cutting my hands and knees on the sharp stones. Even in my mad fear, I could still hear them shouting. Then there were bright lights and a roar of noise in the sky – helicopters and bullets flying. The Doctor's friends? Come to defeat the Ravenous Man? In less than a minute it was over. A lone voice cried out, then silence and darkness. It climbed out of the hole and looked around. The Wasteland seemed as barren as ever. Harsh, white security lights bathed the ruined landscape and revealed nothing but acres of refuse – then I saw him. A figure in a long brown coat, slumped in a twisted heap at the top of a nearby slag pile. If the Ravenous Man had been talking to someone he called "the Doctor" - could this ragged, silent heap possibly be the hero that Elton talked on and on about?

I worked my way up to the top of the pile, slowly for the sake of my head and my hands. Halfway up I would've sworn he was dead, he lay so still. But when I finally got up next to him I could tell he was breathing – shallow, slow breaths that rather frightened me. I turned him over and opened his coat, revealing a wound in the lower abdomen. He didn't seem to be bleeding much, which surprised me. I'd seen a mate get stabbed in that same place in my 6th Year at school – he'd died in a pool of his own blood. I felt around under his coat in the back – it was a clean hole, going straight through. And yet only a slow trickle of warm, sweet-smelling blood ran over my fingers. I put my head on his chest, then pulled back in surprise – the rhythm was unfamiliar: two strong, fast beats, then a one single, slow "thump." I grabbed my phone to call an ambulance, but it rang as I began to dial. It was Elton.

"Oy, Liz, where ARE you? Weren't you supposed to drop by for supper tonight? We've ordered from that Chinese place down the –"

"Elton – I think I found him."

"What?"

"Long coat. Brown suit. Skinny. Hair like that chap who . . . oh, you know, who played the crazy boyfriend in Secret Smile. Weird heartbeat. Your Doctor."

"You're winding me up – how do you know?"

"He right here in front of me."

"Lemme talk to him."

"Can't. He's not exactly conscious."

"What? What's wrong with him?"

"I dunno. I assume this is a bullet hole, since I heard shooting. He's got this big burn on his chest too . . . but it looks to be healing up. His heart sounds odd. Three beats instead of two."

There was a pause. When Elton spoke again I thought I could hear his steps pounding down the estate stairs. "It's supposed to have four beats. Stay with him – tell me where you are, I'm on my way."


	3. Not Every Shadow

**Chapter 3: NOT EVERY SHADOW**

_Sorry this is so short and it's taken me so long to upload – I had to make a new 1860s gown for Remembrance Day Weekend at Gettysburg. Historical Costuming – like a TARDIS, only slower . . . ;-) I promise more is forthcoming!_

"Shouldn't we take him to hospital," I asked when we'd folded the Doctor's lanky form into the back of Elton's Mini.

"With two heartbeats, are you mad?" he said, turning sharply and skidding on the gravelly pavement.

"How are we supposed to help him, then? It's not like either of us are a Galli-whats-ian healer."

"We can keep him safe until we can find his TARDIS. That's what he'll need to heal-up proper, I expect." Elton ran a red signal and narrowly avoided creaming a bag-lady. "We'll take him back to my place, and you & Ursula can watch him while I go on a hunt for that police-box!"

"You on the street, hunting random blue boxes, not a chance! You'll get yourself mugged proper, you will. I'll look for it."

"Neither of you can look for it," said a low voice from the backseat. He coughed, tried to sit up, failed, then said "I put it out of sync with reality – it'll be one second behind anytime it's at. You'll never find it . . . Oh, Nice to see you're still around, Elton . . . Just drive me back to -" The Doctor's voice faded and he collapsed back into the seat.

"Great," said Elton. "We need our own bloody time machine to find his bloody time-machine. Freakin' Time Lords – always too clever for their own good."

"What do we do, then," I said, leaning into the backseat to check the Doctor's pulse.

"We get him somewhere safe, that's what," said Elton. "He probably just needs time. Let's just hope he wasn't, er, on the clock or nothin' . . ."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, he's the Doctor, ain't he. He's always got a world to save. For all we know there are Aliens up the sky right now, with some gigantic clock thingy counting down to the End of the World and he's the only one who can stop it."

"Well, we're right screwed then, aren't we. Does he always do that?"

"Do what, exactly?"

"Black our right when he's about to reveal information that people need?"

"Hrmph. You should hear Jackie Tyler's stories . . ."

Elton peeled into his council estate parking space. The light above the entrance and in the stairwell flickered – they were always going out – and I noticed a large, gold-coated alley cat settled on the stoop. As we were trying to maneuver the Doctor out the back door of the Mini, I looked up to the lit window of Elton & Ursula's apartment on the 8th floor.

"Oh, he is going to be _so fun_ to carry up 8 flights."

"Well, there's this thing called a _lift_, you see . . ."

I pointed through the glass entrance. There was a posting on the lift doors in bright-red letters: OUT OF ORDER. PLEASE USE STAIRWAYS.

"Bloody, damnable building . . ." muttered Elton. "Well – we could both use some exercise with all this Chinese food waiting for us upstairs."

Elton grabbed the Doctor by the shoulders of his coat, and I grabbed his feet the best I could. As we lifted him over the front stoop, I kicked the alley cat out of my way, into the shadows on my left.

The cat instantly evaporated in a puff of fur.


End file.
